Blessed Are the Meek
by mkaz
Summary: Acting on the referral from Mohinder, Claire and Sylar travel to Louisiana to help a gifted boy who has been targeted by an unknown threat.
1. Chapter 1

Claire was hurting.

She wasn't in physical pain, of course. Her extraordinary abilities enabled all cuts, scrapes and lacerations to clot and close, all broken bones to reset themselves, all bullets that might penetrate her skin to make their way out of her with no scar left behind. She didn't even feel physical pain the way normal people did. It was….more of irritation than suffering to her.

But she knew she was hurting, and for a very human reason. She hadn't let on, but her torture at the hands of the Taylor brothers had left her feeling shattered in a way she hadn't felt before. She needed to know that she was safe, and loved. She wanted to feel protected, even though she knew she didn't really need it.

Now, she was sitting on a plane with Sylar. They were sitting side by side. They were seated in coach, the most confined class to be assigned to, and so every time she moved her arm, it brushed against his. He wasn't looking at her. He was (or pretended to be) engrossed in a book he had bought from one of the duty-free shops prior to boarding the plane.

She knew he cared about her. She found out that he had begged Mohinder to put her back together after she had been mangled. And that he killed Reid Taylor mainly out of revenge for her. They were on shaky ground, she knew, but she was sure that Sylar would do anything to keep her safe.

She was still attracted to him, but it was different than before. At first, it was a physical attraction, some primal and dark that they shared mutually. But now…somehow it felt like something new. She desperately wanted him to comfort her, to hold her in his arms and reassure her. She was aching to be made love to.

But she was beginning to get tired. The incredible stress of the last few days, combined with the monotonous droning of the plane's engine made her feel sleepy. The seat upright was uncomfortable for her head, and she felt like she would be inconveniencing the passenger sitting behind her if she reclined. She looked over at Sylar's shoulder. She longed to lay her head down. What would he do? Would she make him uncomfortable? Would he tell her to sit up? Would he find some excuse to get up from his seat and escape her?

Finally, she stopped wondering and, as casually as she could manage, brought her head to rest against Sylar's arm. She didn't dare look at him, and he didn't say a word. But then, much to her surprise and joy, she felt his head come to rest on top of hers. Feeling drowsiness come over her, she fell asleep.

He felt somewhat moronic, but up until this point, he hadn't realized how young Claire really was. For so long he hadn't considered her a person, only an acquisition. It wasn't until she fought him, until she challenged him, that he realized that she was so much more than a prize. She had proved several times now that she was worthy, and with living a life as they did, what did age matter? They did not abide by the same rules as those with ordinary lives.

But now, with his head on her silky blonde one, he saw how tender and vulnerable she was. He was much older than her; there was still so much for her to learn, so much she hadn't experienced. He suddenly felt a great responsibility for her, and it frightened him.

They arrived in New Mexico, picked up the mustang. Sylar drove them to a hotel where they would spend the night and the next day would set out for Louisiana. They had no reservations, so the only room the hotel could give them in a pinch was a single room with a twin bed. They made it to the room, and Sylar was surprised to find he was nervous.

She took a shower, and changed into her pajamas in the bathroom. She emerged to find him sitting by the window and looking out of it, in the only chair in the sparsely furnished room. She felt shy in front of him. Not knowing what to do, she climbed onto the bed and sat up, hugging her knees to her chest, waiting for Sylar to acknowledge her.

Finally he brought himself to look at her. She was beautiful, graceful, and misleadingly fragile-looking. She was wearing the pair of pajamas she'd bought during their first shopping trip together, coral pink ones with a short sleeved empire waist top and drawstring pants that reached the knee. They were…adorable, and they suited her. She'd washed her hair, and now had it in a charmingly messy bun at the top of her head. He took a slightly deeper breath than normal, and he could just catch the warm scent of vanilla on her. He was sure the scent was dabbed on her neck, that sweet, soft spot where he'd buried his face twice before. She gazed at him, seeming to invite him to be near her.

He was just…looking. Claire couldn't believe that after all he'd done, with and without her, that he could be indecisive. But, that's what all the signs were pointing to. She wanted to will him to the bed, to get under the covers and hold her close to him the way he tried to when they were in Portland that first night. She couldn't bring herself to do it then; it just wasn't right. And even now, if anything did happen, Claire wasn't sure that she wouldn't regret it later. But she had done all she could to drive her doubts away. She needed him, more than she thought she could. Even after all that had happened between them, she still couldn't escape the weak feeling she had around him.

Finally, feeling ridiculous about staring at her for so long, he got up from the chair and walked toward the bed, not really knowing for sure what he was going to do just yet.

He was gorgeous. Tall and lean, dressed in a tight black turtleneck and black jeans. He was unshaven, and stubble looked good on him. Dark piercing eyes, dark hair that fell boyishly over his brow now that it was beginning to grow. A daemonesque Adonais.

If she just reached out, she would be able to touch him, pull him onto her, hold him close…

Her sea blue eyes were pleading with him. He opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm going to head out for a while. Get some rest. You need it."

And before she knew what happened, he was out of the room, the door shut behind him.

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He found himself in the last place he'd ever want to go. But here he was. The air thick and acrid with cigarette smoke, the stale, bitter scent of beer. The TV mounted above the glass bottles blaring with some sports program or another, the loud, drunken conversations of the patrons around him, the clutter and clink of glasses and mugs and dishes.

Bars were the sort of places Sylar always avoided. The places full of the sounds of people—the ignorant, the small, the petty. But at least here he didn't have to think. He couldn't concentrate in a place like this. His thoughts of Claire began to fade as he took a swig of the foamy ale he'd ordered and allowed the sounds, sights and smells to take him over.

After a half an hour, he forced himself to look up. A few seats down from him, a man with a scraggly blond beard was practically throwing himself on a pale wiry redhead who didn't seem to mind the lack of personal space. Two businessmen were jabbering about their hard day at the office. He turned around in his chair, and saw a woman with short spiky black hair and attired in a short black dress sitting at one of the tables, sizing him up. She appeared to be a little older than him, and she eyed him up and down, then flashed him a slightly gap-toothed smile. He gave a half-hearted grin then turned back to his beer. He didn't need any more complications tonight.

After ten more minutes passed, he allowed his eyes to wander around the room again, and he caught sight of someone who actually made his chest grow cold. Panicked, he threw down enough money to cover his bill and zipped out of the bar.

The air was chill, and Sylar stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked as fast as he could back to the hotel. It was very dark in front of him, and he couldn't see well, and at last he felt himself bump into someone else.

He was about to excuse himself when he realized who it was. "You!" he cried. He held up his hand to repel the intruder when he remembered that his powers were null in the presence of this person. Genuinely frightened, he back away quickly. "Stay away!" he practically screamed.

The Haitian calmly walked out of the shadows, now holding up his hands to work his magic.

"Wait!" Sylar cried. "I'm not the person I was before!"

The Haitian continued to walk towards him.

"I don't kill and steal powers anymore!" Sylar tried again.

Still the Haitian pursued.

His last ditch effort. "I'm traveling with Claire Bennet! We're partners! We were enlisted by a man named Nakamura!"

Those were the magic words. The Haitian stopped in his tracks, tilting his head slightly as if to take all of it in.

"I work for Claire's grandmother," the dark-skinned man told Sylar with an exotic accent. "She sent me to find Claire and bring her home. And remove any obstacles in my path."

Sylar was dumbfounded. From what he had heard during his imprisonment, the Haitian didn't talk. Then again, it was probably useful to pretend to be mute. People were probably a lot more willing to be loose-lipped about vital details when they believed a person couldn't say anything.

Sylar swallowed back his fear. "I haven't kidnapped Claire, nor have I hurt her in any way," he said as earnestly as he could. "She asked me to come along, in fact. I can take her to you now, if you want, and she'll confirm everything I've just told you."

The Haitian crossed his arms. "My instructions were to deliver Claire, regardless of how willing she was to come along," he said bluntly. "My employer is unconcerned with Claire's pursuits. She merely wants the girl to come home."

"But she has no right!" Sylar shouted, indignant.

The Haitian shook his head. "Mrs. Petrelli is a very wealthy and powerful woman. What she wants, she will get."

_So_, thought Sylar. _This woman Petrelli must be Peter's mother. The arrogance and officiousness that boy scout has is genetic_.

Sylar sighed in frustration. "At least come with me and talk to Claire about this. She's tried so hard—just let her tell you before you do anything."

The Haitian seemed to consider it for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

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She changed into jeans and a t-shirt, and was now parked in front of the television. She wasn't tired anymore. She was humiliated, and angry. How could Sylar just pick up and leave like that? Oh, he was impossible. She practically had to be at death's doorstep for him to show any feelings at all.

There was a knock on the door and she rolled her eyes. He must have been in such a hurry to get away from her that he forgot his key. Groaning, she stood up and opened the door.

It was him. "Claire, let me in. We need to talk," he told her.

Claire scoffed. "Oh do we? I didn't know that--" she cut herself off when she realized Sylar wasn't alone. It was the Haitian standing next to him.

Her eyes grew wide. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

The Haitian made his way into the room, followed by Sylar. "I ran into your…partner," he said with his refined accent. "I have been following you two for a while. I am here to bring you home."

Claire gritted her teeth. "Was it my grandmother that sent you?"

The Haitian nodded. "Mrs. Petrelli wants you with her."

Then, much to the surprise of everyone involved, Claire took the Haitian's hand in hers. "Please don't do this. Please don't take away Sylar's and my memory. He's worked so hard to overcome what he's done." She squeezed the dark hand. "You've gone against orders to help me before. Please. Do it again?"

The dark man gently took his hand out of Claire's grasp and looked at Sylar with quiet distrust. "If it were just you traveling alone, I might consider it. I might even join you; I am not entirely pleased with the work I've done," he admitted. "But you are a young girl traveling with a known murderer. I must side with your grandmother in this instance."

"But we've been traveling together for nearly two months, and he hasn't gone back to his old ways at all. In fact, we have an assignment. Please." Then, suddenly Claire had an idea. "Why don't you come with us to Louisiana? Help us with our work. Then, after we're done, you can make your decision. Is it a deal?"

Sylar gave Claire a confused look. Why was she inviting the Haitian along? They should be formulating a plan to elude him. Had he been alone, Sylar would probably be plotting to kill him so he'd never have to worry about a drain on his powers. But he knew that Claire had a soft spot in her heart for the dark-skinned man. And Sylar knew that if he objected in any way, it would only fuel the Haitian's suspicions. So he stood by, silent, and let Claire handle the negotiations.

The Haitian stood wordlessly for a while. Then, finally, he said, "when you are ready to go I will come along. I hope for your sake, you impress me." With that, he left.

Sylar looked at Claire. "I guess…we need to get some rest." He shifted uncomfortably. The small, single bed loomed in front of him.

But Claire was grabbing her jacket and purse. "I've gotten enough rest, and it will be morning soon. I think I'll go sit in the lobby and read that book you found so interesting on the plane. I'll come wake you in a few hours." Without waiting for a reply, she went out the door.

Sylar sat on the bed, feeling an incredible emptiness come over him. And then, that image entered his mind again, the one he'd been fighting ever since they left Columbus. He lay back on the bed, holding his head in his hands.

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Sylar was faintly aware of a hand lightly shaking him. He groaned and tried to paw it away. "Claire, let me sleep a little longer," he mumbled.

But the hand kept shaking him. Sylar finally opened his eyes to find it was the Haitian.

"Get up," the ebony hued minion told him. "We are ready to go."

The trip was broken into two very long days of driving, sixteen hours in all. There was barely any conversation. It was either Claire driving, Sylar sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, the Haitian sitting in silent judgment in the back, or Sylar driving, Claire sitting uneasily in the front, and the Haitian sitting in silent suspicion in the back. Meals taken on the road were just as reticent. Sylar didn't know about Claire, but he almost felt like he was back in that observation room at Primatech, his every action scrutinized and studied. It was an unnerving experience for him, as he was usually the one doing the cool-tempered analyzing.

They had to pass through Texas to get to get to Louisiana, and Claire was almost grateful for it. They passed the sign for Odessa, and she was filled with nostalgia instead of unrest about having the Haitian with them. She longed for those days of carefree childhood and a loving family, but she was resolved to make the most of the life she now led.

Finally, in Houston, they stopped at a restaurant and Claire decided to call the woman they were supposed to visit.

She dropped two quarters in the phone and dialed, looking over at the two men who were once a nemesis to one another, but now thrown together reluctantly. She turned her back to them while she listened to the rings.

On the third ring, there was an answer. "Hello?" came a woman's voice.

Claire's brow furrowed at the anxious sound of the greeting, but she responded pleasantly. "Hi! Is this…Amy Perredine?"

There was a pause. Claire was about to ask if the person was still there, but the woman spoke again. "Who is this?" she asked tensely.

"Th-this is Claire Bennet--"

"I don't know what you people are up to, but there's nothing wrong with my boy! We don't want your help!"

Claire was taken aback by the woman's presumption, but managed to reply, "Uh, Ms. Perredine, I'm a friend of Dr. Mohinder Suresh. He gave me your information."

"Oh! Ohhh," Amy Perredine said on the phone, clearly calming down. "I thought you were someone else."

"Who did you think I was?" Claire asked cautiously.

There was another long pause. "Can you protect us? Can you come here and keep us safe?"

"From what?"

"I don't know. I just…" her voice trailed off.

"Ms. Perredine?"

"I can't say anything on the phone. If you really want to help, you'll get here as soon as possible." With that, she hung up.

"Hello? Hello?" Claire called into the phone. Knowing it was futile, she hung up the phone. She was startled to find Sylar right outside the phone booth.

He smirked at her surprise. "Did you have a pleasant conversation?"

Claire glared at his sarcasm. "We need to get there as soon as possible. That woman is frightened."

Sylar turned and looked towards their table, where the Haitian was indulgently sipping his coffee. "This ought to be an interesting adventure for us; it's always pleasant to have a chaperone."

Claire cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you'd be pleased that he's coming along; now you don't have to worry about being alone with me."

Sylar stiffened and looked away. Claire couldn't help but feel satisfied by his reaction.

"Claire, you're young. I know this sounds ridiculous, but I've just come to realize that."

She scoffed. "You've just realized that? Just two months ago, you didn't care!"

"And two months before that, I would have taken the top of your head off and scooped out your grey matter, no second thoughts," Sylar countered. "Like I said before, I need time to be the boy-scout you want."

"I never said I wanted a boy-scout. You just like to think that because you don't want to take any time to know me," Claire grumbled, then sighed. "It doesn't matter anyway; we have things to do."

At this comment, Sylar chuckled bitterly. "Of course. You want me to understand you, but we spend all our time doing the job of the idiot cops and drying the tears of all the cretins in the world."

At first Claire looked hurt and angry, but then her face grew calm and she shook her head. "You can go to hell," she told him flatly, and went to rejoin their taciturn guest.

Sylar smirked and followed after her. That mouth. It was what he loved about her.

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When they arrived in Baton Rouge and pulled up to the house, Claire couldn't help but feel that something was wrong. She looked behind her at the Haitian in the back seat, and he nodded in affirmation. She took an anxious breath and walked to the door, flanked by her unlikely guardians.

She had to knock twice before the door was finally answered. A short, thick woman with long dark brown hair answered the door, her grey eyes wide with fear.

Clutching the doorframe, she whispered, "Claire Bennet?"

"Yes?" Claire answered. "Amy?"

Immediately tears began to fill the woman's eyes and she grabbed hold of Claire's hand.

"They-they took him! They took my little boy!"

Her hand still in Amy's grasp, Claire looked at her companions and frowned. They had come too late.


	2. Chapter 2

Sylar looked around the shabbily furnished, dimly lit living room where he, the Haitian, and Claire were now sitting with Amy Perredine. The chubby woman was trying to hold back tears as she relayed her sad story to Claire, who was holding her hand and nodding like some sort of grief counselor.

"Just take a deep breath and start from the beginning," Claire said gently.

The woman obeyed her and began. "My boy, Corey, he turned seven years old three months ago. That's around the time I realized that he was…special. Um," she laughed here through her tears, "we were having a party for him, and he just kept saying, 'Mommy, I smell something stinky. It smells like tires, Mommy.' Of course, I just ignored him, because none of us could smell anything. We humored him because it was his day. But then, later that night I turned on the news and found out that there had been an accident with an 18-wheeler on the freeway about ten miles from here. The tires had shred on the truck.

I didn't know what to think. I just tried not to think about it. And then, one day, I came to pick him up from school. Ohhh…and he didn't know I was there, I came up behind him…and he said, 'Hi, Mommy.' And I said, 'How did you know it was me?' And he said, 'Because I know your smell. Everyone smells different, and you smell like my mom.' That's when I knew. That's when I knew for sure he was special."

"So who took him?" Claire asked.

"I don't know for sure. I never actually saw anyone, I just got things in the mail, email, phone calls. And they had the same message—that Corey would be better off with them because they knew how to 'cultivate' his gift. The last time they called, I told them to go to hell. He's my son; he's all I have! No one's taking my baby from me."

"But they did take him from you," Claire said gently.

The woman nodded wordlessly.

"And…you don't know how?" Claire pressed.

"He was in his bed one moment, and the next minute he was gone."

"Have you called the police?" Sylar interjected. This was sounding more like a kidnapping than a case of the extraordinary. And in that instance, there was no reason for them to get involved.

Amy stared at Sylar, her eyes red and puffy. "No," she whispered. "You see, I was in the same room with him. One moment he was there, the next moment, he was gone. I was looking right at him." Amy then turned to Claire, who she had clearly pegged as being the sympathetic one of the group. "How could I go to the police with this? They'd never believe me. I was hoping that you could keep him safe. But now that you've gotten here too late…I'm hoping that you can find him."

Claire looked at her companions, whose expressions were less than encouraging, but she put her hand on top of Amy's and nodded. "We'll do everything we can. Did you happen to keep any of the letters they sent you? Or the emails?"

Amy shook her head and sniffled. "I was so put-off by them that I sent it all to the trash. I didn't realize that it would have been helpful."

Sylar rolled his eyes, then, seeing Claire's glare at his lack of sensitivity, he tried to ameliorate the situation. "Do you know of anyone that might have been talking to your son? Someone he might have met at school? Or in the neighborhood?"

"No. No one that I know of."

Remembering the stuff she'd seen on detective shows, Claire asked for a picture of Corey to keep temporarily. Amy brought her one of Corey at the zoo, standing next to the penguin display. Claire smiled sadly at the photo of the dark haired little boy, smiling happily. He was so glad to just be a normal child, and now that was going to be taken away from him. Claire knew what that was like, and she knew then and there that she was going to do everything she could to help this child reclaim the life he deserved.

Thanking Amy for the information and telling her not to worry, Claire walked back to the mustang, where Sylar and the Haitian were waiting for her.

"So…what do you make of all this?" Claire asked them.

The Haitian looked at the house, then back at her. "It is unlikely, but it could be the Company's doing," he suggested.

"Only if they've changed their M.O.," Sylar argued. "They don't seem the type for marketing their services, as they did to Amy. Their technique revolves around plucking people out of their lives and cutting them up. Wouldn't you agree?" Sylar asked snidely, turning to the Haitian.

The Haitian narrowed his eyes. "We studied those with abilities. Only the ones we deemed dangerous—like you—were 'cut up'."

"Stop it, both of you," Claire snapped, then sighed. "Let's get back on the road and try to work this out."

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He watched them get into their car and drive away. Although he knew it was a serious situation, he couldn't help but think the car was cool. It was a mustang, just the type of car he and Corey had admired. He knew he had to follow them and talk to them.

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They decided to stay at a bed and breakfast not too far away from where Amy lived. As they were checking in, the Haitian tapped Claire on the elbow and told her he would find his own lodgings. She and Sylar watched the dark man leave the building and they looked at each other.

"We're making progress," Sylar said with a smirk. "He's leaving you alone with me. He trusts me not to kill you."

Claire snorted. "A journey of a thousand miles, huh? I'm going to go check out the rooms. Can you find out where the stores are? We need to restock our supplies."

As Claire went upstairs, Sylar sensed that someone was watching him from someplace nearby. He walked down the corridor, to the backdoor of the house.

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He saw the tall man leave out the back way, not seeing him. It was safe for him to come out of the dining room. But when he turned around, he found, to his shock, the man was standing right behind him. He gasped.

The tall man looked at him sternly. "Why were you watching me?" he asked.

He gaped, but then found his voice and said, "I know you're looking for Corey. I want to help."

The tall man seemed to consider it, and he nodded. "What's your name?"

"Kevin James Juster, sir. I've been Corey's best friend since he was four."

The tall man motioned for him to walk with him back to the reception area of the inn.

Once they were seated in the lobby, the tall man asked him if he knew Corey was special.

With some hesitation, Kevin nodded. "He had a nose like a bloodhound, sir. He could smell anything, and he knew people by their smell. He knew if a guy meant no good or if he was all right."

"Do you know who took him?"

Kevin shook his head sadly. "I don't know the people. But I saw somebody talking to him a couple days before he went missing."

"What did they look like?"

"It was a thin, pretty lady with short dark hair. She was smiling an awful lot, and she didn't seem right."

"What do you mean, didn't seem right?"

"There ain't nobody smiles that much over anything, sir. It was fake smiling, and you know Corey with his nose, he knew right away she was up to no good."

"Do you know what Corey said to her?"

"I just know he told her 'no', again and again. I saw him walking away from the lady, and she wasn't smiling no more. In fact, she looked like she was ready to kill."

"And that was the only time you saw her?"

"Only time that _I_ did, sir. I'm willing to bet anything that it wasn't the first time Corey had seen her."

"Why do you say that, Kevin?"

" 'Cause toward the end, Corey was acting real upset, and so was his ma. It's like—it's like he knew that something was gonna happen to him, and there wasn't no one who could help him."

The tall man was thinking it over, and Kevin sat there stiffly. He hoped he was doing the right thing. He wished Corey was here. He'd take one sniff of this guy and know whether he was all right or not.

Just then, they heard a voice. "There you are! I've been looking…" The voice trailed off and the slim, pretty blonde girl Kevin had seen before was walking up to them. Seeing her made Kevin feel much better about talking.

The tall man stood up. "Claire, this is Kevin Juster. He's a friend of Corey's."

The girl smiled prettily and took his hand. "Well, thanks for trying to help us. What do you have that might be helpful?"

Kevin relayed the story he told the tall man and sighed. "But I don't know where Corey is, ma'am," he then blushed and added, "he's a little kid, after all. I worry about him."

Claire smiled, amused. "And how old are you, Kevin?"

He looked down shyly. "I'm nearly ten, ma'am."

"Kevin James Juster!" a husky female voice called out. All three turned around to see a large woman, even larger than Amy Perredine, advancing towards them.

"Mama?" Kevin asked.

"Don't you 'Mama' me, young man! Just who do you think you are, running away any time it suits you?" The woman took Kevin by the arm roughly. "Now you go to the car right now and wait for me, and unless you want your hide tanned, you'd better stay put!"

"Yes, Mama," the boy mumbled, and sulked out of the inn.

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The woman now turned to Claire and Sylar. "I'm sorry if my boy was bothering you. Ever since his friend went to live with his father, he's had all these wild ideas in his head."

Claire and Sylar looked at each other. "Are you—you're not talking about Corey Perredine, are you?" Claire asked.

The woman nodded and touched a tissue to her fleshy face. "I'm Nadine Juster. I've been neighbors with Amy for years now. She's a nice girl, but she's always been unstable."

Sylar's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, 'unstable'?"

Nadine looked around, then leaned in confidentially. "When Corey's father left Amy several years ago, she went off the deep end. Recently, he came back into their lives. He got remarried, and from what I've heard, to a much younger, prettier woman. Well, Jack—that's Corey's father—convinced the boy to go live with them in Arizona, and Amy couldn't handle it. She's been making up these crazy stories about Corey being kidnapped and all this nonsense. You know, I don't mind her living in her fantasy world, but she's got Kevin so mixed up he's believing in secret clubs and conspiracies and all this mess."

Claire was dumbfounded. But she collected herself and said, "But Kevin said he saw Corey talking to a woman who looked suspicious."

Nadine shook her head. "I'm willing to bet that was his stepmother. I saw the poor dear a few weeks ago, trying to make nice with Corey. But the boy had his head filled with stories of how terrible she was. I'm just glad Jack was finally able to convince him to go with him. Corey's much better off with his father, believe me."

Claire and Sylar looked at each other with mutual confusion. Nadine broke in again.

"Look, please don't think that I'm a busybody, telling you all this. But I figured that Amy was up to something crazy. You're…private investigators, I take it?"

Sylar looked at Claire and shrugged. "You could call us that," he admitted.

"Well, like I said, if Amy wants to live in her own little world, that's one thing. But when she starts dragging my son and other innocent people into this, well, I think it's my duty to let you know what's really going on."

Sylar nodded. "Well, thank you for letting us know."

Nadine nodded and promptly left the inn.

Claire turned to Sylar. "Let's go upstairs. We need to talk."

Sylar smiled suggestively. "About what?"

Claire didn't return the smile. "About this case. Come on."

"What's there to talk about?" Sylar asked once they reached Claire's room. "You heard the woman. Amy Perredine's off her rocker!"

"I'm not so sure of that," Claire argued. "I think there's more going on here than meets the eye."

Sylar rolled his eyes. "Not everything is a huge conspiracy, you know. I mean, let's look at the situation," he sat down on the bed next to Claire. "You have a woman who claims that her son was taken, yet she doesn't call the police! I know, I know she said that she didn't think they'd believe her, but what mother who's just lost her child wouldn't immediately call the authorities? I'm pretty sure that's almost an involuntary reaction for parents."

"But what about his abilities?"

Sylar shrugged. "Maybe the kid has them, maybe not. That's not the point. We also have to remember that Amy was making these accusations of phone calls, emails, postal mail—but, conveniently, she has no physical evidence to show us. Claire, if this were any case for the police, there would be nothing to go on!"

"But this isn't an ordinary case!" Claire argued. "And what about Kevin? He came up to us and told us something wasn't right!"

"And then his mother came and refuted everything he had just said. Come on now! Are you going to believe a grown woman who's known Amy Perredine all her life, or a ten year old with conspiracy theories and a crush?"

Claire couldn't help but blush at the idea of a little boy with a crush on her, but she continued. "I just got weird vibes off of that woman, Sylar. There's more going on here, and we need to find out what!"

Sylar groaned. "When are you going to realize that not everything is a case to be solved, Claire? We've come all this way for nothing! What I think we should be doing is trying to find a way to outsmart the Haitian so that you don't have to worry about your grandmother coming after you again. After all, what's more important to you: your freedom, or a hunch?" Inside, Sylar was hoping once, just once, Claire would abandon her need to be a hero and be reasonable. He even rationalized it to himself; it had nothing to do with anything he might feel for her; it just made sense.

Claire glared in defiance. "Cracking this case will earn the Haitian's respect, and my security," she told him. "And I'm not going to feel free until I know for sure what's happened to that little boy."

Sylar got off the bed and stood by the window, looking out of it with a dark look on his face.

"Sylar?" Claire said in annoyance. When he didn't answer she said it softer. "Sylar? Say something?"

"What do you want me to say? Just tell me and I'll say it," Sylar muttered.

"You know what I want to hear more than anything else. But it won't be true," she said with a frown.

Sylar threw up his hands and groaned. He began to walk from the room. Claire caught him by the cuff of his shirt.

"Just say you're with me, then," she said.

Sylar looked down at the blonde girl and frowned. "I'm with you. There's nowhere else for me to go." With that, he left her.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Kevin stayed silent the entire trip. He didn't dare look at his mother, who was strangely quiet herself. This wasn't like her. As angry as she was at the inn, she should have been ranting and raving at him. But now, she was silent as they drove back home.

The sun had been shining brightly, but Kevin noticed it was starting to get darker and darker. He looked out the window and noticed that the wind had picked up and the air was getting colder.

"Are you frightened, baby?" Kevin's mother asked him.

Kevin shifted uneasily in his seat. "No, Mama. It's just a storm."

His mother laughed in a way that he'd never heard her laugh before. "Oh yes, of course. It's just a storm," she replied, turning to look at him at the last part of her sentence.

Kevin shuddered and looked out the window. He gasped when he saw that the road and trees were gone, replaced by a desolate wasteland. There was the sound of thunder running through the air. Where was his mother taking him?

"You know, you really shouldn't have talked to those people," his mother said, although Kevin was beginning to notice that her voice was different.

He gulped. "I'm sorry, Mama."

"Mm," his mother grunted. "I know you are, sweetie. And you're going to be much sorrier in a little while."

Kevin's eyes widened in fear. What was she talking about? Just then, he felt a large shock hit the car, followed by several smaller ones. He screamed. The car was coming apart!

"Mama!" he cried out, only to find, with horror, that his mother wasn't behind the wheel. He screamed as the car broke into pieces and he went flying into the air.

He landed hard on the arid ground, the sky cracked with lightening and smelling like sulfur. He sobbed as he tried to get up, only to find his legs were broken, twisted into a bloody, gnarled mass. He squealed in pain.

"Are you in pain, baby?" came a voice. It was his mother, walking up to him, a smile on her face.

His jaw dropped. Where had she come from? And why was she smiling? She was smiling just like…

"Who are you? What are you?" he cried, as she leaned over him.

His mother's face faded and was replaced by a rabid dog, its saliva-drenched jaws snapping just inches from his face. He screamed and tried to back away, but was largely unsuccessful due to his crushed legs. And yet, somehow the dog was able to talk.

"If that little blonde and her tall dark friend ask any more questions, you know nothing! Keep your mouth shut if you want Corey to be safe."

Kevin stared at the dog and nodded dumbly. Then he shut his eyes tightly, hoping that it would all go away.

And much to his relief, when he opened them again, he was standing—standing on his perfectly fine, straight, unmarred legs—in front of his house in the sunshine. Weeping, he made his way in.


	3. Chapter 3

She stalked through the living room. She couldn't help but notice when she was in her hyperkinetic state, objects seemed clearer, more defined. It was like being in a three dimensional picture taken with a high-resolution camera. This was probably because to her, it was all standing still.

Amy Perredine was standing still too. The chubby woman was standing by the window, looking out of it, hoping, she was sure, that Corey would be skipping down the road to come home. Only a second of normal time had passed, so her eyes had a glassy, lifeless look. Her heart hadn't even complete its beat.

She walked right up to Amy and whispered in her ear, "You should have just given Corey to us. You know nothing! Now you've got those people on our tail. You should have known we would get him in the end."

She knew that to Amy, her voice would sound like the buzz of a fly. And by the time Amy heard the noise and prepared to shoo it away, she'd be dead.

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Claire couldn't sleep. She knew she should have been doing something related to the case, but with the things Nadine Juster had told her and Sylar, and the Haitian being nowhere in sight, she was perplexed.

Finally, she couldn't stand it any longer and she got out of bed and dressed. She tiptoed past Sylar's room, thinking of waking him to come with her. But he hadn't seemed interested. Even though he said he was with her, he had drifted into his apathetic, sour mood where no one in the world was worth his time and effort. She decided to go to Amy Perredine's house again, find some evidence, then come back and report it to him. If she found anything useful, maybe then he'd come around.

She drove to Amy's house and knocked at the door. She wasn't sure exactly what time it was, but she knew it was still fairly early in the evening; if Amy had gone to bed already, she'd apologize profusely and tell her it was about the case. If Amy was serious about Corey, she wouldn't mind the intrusion anyway.

After knocking for the third time with no answer, Claire sighed and tried the door, only to find that it was unlocked. Cautiously, she pushed open the door and walked in. "Amy?" she called. "Are you home?" There was no reply.

The house was lit inside, but empty of all activity. Claire walked in carefully, looking all around her to see if anyone was there. Finally, Claire decided to do some searching. She climbed the stairs, and walked down the hallway, trying the doors. Finally, the last door on the right she went into and found that it must have been Corey's bedroom. The twin bed was made with a dark blue sheet with a bright red racecar stitched onto it, and on the top of the bookshelf were a myriad of action figures. A poster of John Wayne adorned the back of the door. Claire smiled sadly. She would help to make sure the boy who lived in this room got to see it again.

Looking around again for caution, Claire started going through the drawers. The first few were the boy's clothes; one drawer contained stickers and baseball cards. Finally, Claire found a large box under the chest of drawers, and, pulling it out from its resting place, she sat on the bed with it. She found inside the box a baby book, with the picture of a baby that must have been Corey on the cover. On the inside page she found his name emblazoned in gold letters. She turned the next page and the sentimental smile fell when she saw that it was a family tree. Second from the bottom were Corey's parents: Amy Danziger, and Ryan Perredine.

"Ryan," Claire said softly to herself. "Corey's father's name is Ryan."

Just then, felt a sharp blow to her head, followed in quick succession by three to her back and stomach. Before she could even feel the pain from the blows, she was being hurled through the air and slammed against the far wall. And before her body hit the floor from being thrown, she felt something slam into her back with an incredible force. She heard her spine snap, then all was black.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

He was sick of having a blindfold on his face hour after hour. It made his head feel hot and his eyes feel weak. They kept testing him, again and again, until he wanted to cry. He just wanted to go home.

The tests began easily enough. They blindfolded him and put him in a quiet room, then asked him to identify what he could smell. They must have been pleased, because they kept saying "good" after each one and kept making the tests harder.

They asked him to identify people's character by what he smelled. They brought him all kinds of people: kindly nuns, psychotics, nymphomaniacs, harried businessmen, and so on and so forth. And he was able to create a profile for all of them from what he could smell. He wasn't sure, but he believed that they were impressed by his honesty. He just hoped he didn't hurt anyone's feelings by what he said about them.

He just endured what the thought was the worst test they could have given him. Still blindfolded, he was put in a room and told to "smell his way out." He groped his way through the darkness, knowing not to touch the sides of the room because they had sharp metal spikes sticking out of it; he could smell the iron-ness of it. He could smell the sweat of the people on the other side, waiting for him. He breathed in the sweetness of the sticky green plants that were in rows on the floor. He caught a whiff of the marble he was walking on and tapped his foot against it.

Finally, he made it out and they asked him to describe what the room would look like, based on what he smelled. From what they told him, he had described it as perfectly as if he had seen it.

At last the testing was done for the day, and the blindfold was removed. It was then that he saw that the woman he'd seen a few weeks earlier, the one with the short dark hair and the outrageous smile, was waiting for him.

She grinned at him in her fake way. "I heard you did really well today, Corey." She put her arm around him and began to walk with him.

He held himself stiffly in her embrace. "I guess," he replied.

"You guess? You know you did!" she replied with an enthusiasm that Corey's nose marked as nauseating.

"It doesn't really matter to me. I would just like to go home soon."

The woman's grip on his shoulder tightened. "You've already been told about that. This is your home now. You've got very important work to do, Corey. You're going to help save the world."

He frowned. "Couldn't I at least see my mom?"

They were now coming to the room that had been designated as his own from the first night they brought him here. The woman pressed her palm against a panel to the side of the door, which opened to the room. She walked him inside and made him sit on the bed.

"It's not safe for you to see her right now. You have work to do. She'll be proud of you for doing it." She began to walk away.

"Kevin knows where I am! He'll rescue me!" Corey called out.

The woman stopped, and turned around. "No, he won't. I've already made sure that he won't say a word."

Corey's eyes widened. "How?"

She smiled and went up to him, right in his face. "I scared him," she told him in a creepy voice. "And unless you want me to scare you too, you'd better behave yourself." With that, she got up and left the room.

Corey took one of the pillows from the bed and hugged it. He wished he wasn't special. All he wanted was to go home and be with his mother and play with Kevin. He had to find a way out.

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

"Ugghh," Claire groaned as she returned to excruciating consciousness. She felt two strong hands on her back, kneading it painfully. Finally, she heard a crack, and she could move her head again.

She looked up to see the Haitian, kneeling over her. "Good morning," he said.

Claire just stared at him. Then, pulling herself up from the floor, she turned her neck from side to side. "Oww," she moaned. "What happened?"

"I found you here a little while ago. It looks like someone tried to kill you."

"It wasn't the first time, and it won't be the last," she said ruefully. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. You weren't at the inn, so I assumed this would be the next place you'd be." He helped her to her feet.

Once she was vertical, Claire remembered what had happened. She put her hand to her temple. "Nadine Juster was lying," she stated.

"Who?"

"Yesterday a little boy came to see us, claiming to be a friend of the boy who lived here. Then his mother came to get him, and she told us he hadn't been kidnapped, but rather his father had decided to take him to live with him. But she was lying."

"About what?"

Claire looked at the dark man, then walked over to the bed, where the baby book was still lying open. "The woman who went to see us told us that Corey's father's name was Jack. But here in the baby book, his name is Ryan. She was lying. She didn't know anything about Amy Perredine!"

The Haitian narrowed his eyes and walked over to the bedroom window, where he thought he saw something. He walked over to the curtain and pulled it back. The moment he did, however, he saw the curtain at the window of the other house close immediately.

"I think there may be someone who does know something around here," the Haitian said.

They walked over to the house next door and knocked. "No response again," Claire sighed.

The Haitian, in curiosity, walked around to the side of the house. The backyard was empty. Claire walked to his side. "Do you think someone is here?" she whispered.

"I _know_ someone is here," he whispered back. His keen eyes scanned the yard.

"There," he said, lunging for a large bush. Claire gasped as the Haitian pulled someone out from behind it.

"Kevin!" she cried. The Haitian had him by the collar, and he was kicking and screaming to be let go.

"You can put him down," Claire told him. Obediently the Haitian released the boy, who stood with his eyes to the ground.

She knelt down and took his hands in hers. "Kevin? Honey…what happened?" Claire asked him. When he wouldn't look at her she took his chin in her hand and gently pulled his head up. She was surprised to see his face was bloodless and terrified.

His eyes began to fill with tears. "Nothing! Nothing happened! Just let me go!" he tried to run away, but the Haitian gripped his shoulders.

"Now I know that's not true. Come on and tell us." When the boy still wept, Claire added gently, "We can help. We promise."

Kevin just shook his head.

Claire sighed. Then the Haitian said, "I can read his memories. It's part of my gift."

Claire cocked an eyebrow. "But if you read his memories, you'll also be taking them away, right?" The Haitian nodded.

She looked at the frightened little boy. "Kevin, what if we could make you forget the horrible thing that happened to you; would you like that?"

The boy looked at them puzzled, then nodded silently.

Claire looked up at her dark skinned companion. "Do it. Make sure you get everything that could help us."

Claire watched for the second time as the Haitian spread his hands over someone's head and plucked the memories out of their brain. When he was done, Kevin stood there stiffly, looking into space in almost a catatonic state.

"We need to go. He's going to awaken soon," the Haitian said, walking back to the car. Remorsefully, Claire followed.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

He was back in that terrible room again: dark, cold, the smell of blood hanging thick and sour in the air. He heard the sounds of cackling laughter, and although he didn't want to, he followed it.

There were Jed and Reid, the twin brothers of Zane Taylor, the man he killed. They were standing over something that he couldn't make out. They had bright shiny objects in their hands, and they were plunging it into something and laughing heartily with each stab they made.

He drew closer, and saw with horror that they were pulling out a human heart; the organ was still beating in the hands of one of them.

Then Jed and Reid were fading away, but he could hear them saying, "boy, we sure showed that son-of-a-bitch!"

Finally, he was near the table, to see that it was Claire, her chest cut open and her heart removed like before. Her eyes flashed open and she looked right at him. "When are you going to stop killing me?" she asked.

Sylar shouted and sat up in bed, finding with relief that it had only been a dream. He wiped the sweat off his brow and realized that someone was knocking at his door.

"Sylar?" a muffled voice called.

He leapt out of the bed, looking around for some reason, as if the remnants of the dream might still be around. Then he opened the door.

It was Claire and the Haitian. Wordlessly they entered his room.

Seeing the somber looks on their faces, Sylar asked, "What happened?"

"That woman who came to see us yesterday wasn't Nadine Juster," Claire told him.

"Ok," Sylar conceded. "Who was she then?"

"A woman named Candice Wilmer," the Haitian said. "She has the ability to create illusions. She can assume any form she chooses."

"How do you know this?"

"She used to work for the company with me," the Haitian answered. "But when Linderman was killed, it dissolved. I suppose she's moved on to new projects."

"He took the memories from Kevin Juster," Claire added. "Candice threatened him with the illusion of broken legs and a rabid dog. She knows that we're trying to find Corey, and she wanted to shut him up."

"Ok, so we know that something is going on," Sylar admitted. "How do we find the boy?"

"When I worked for the company, I knew of several research facilities they used. There is one here in Louisiana that had been abandoned. Perhaps that's where the boy is being held." The Haitian leaned by the window and crossed his arms.

"That's not the only concern," Claire said reluctantly. "We might be dealing with…someone else too. Someone with power."

Sylar didn't like the way Claire had said that. "What do you mean?" he asked tentatively.

Claire sighed. "I went back to Amy Perredine's last night to get more information. I thought…well, I thought that if I could prove to you that more was going on than meets the eye, you'd give in. I was going through Corey's things, and all of a sudden I was attacked."

"By who?" Sylar asked.

She shook her head. "I didn't see anyone. I just know they were fast, and tough. They—they broke my spine."

Sylar looked like he was about to throw something, he was furious. "How could you go there by yourself?! Why didn't you ask me?"

Claire was shocked, then angry. "I don't need your permission to go anywhere! Since when do you concern yourself with what I do?"

"Since you were butchered by those inbred jerks, and it was…" Sylar's voice trailed off as he realized that the Haitian was staring at him. "And it was my fault," he mumbled.

Claire's anger faded. "Sylar…" she began, reaching out to him.

The Haitian interrupted by clearing his voice. "If Claire was attacked by something that was invisible and moved quickly, then I think I might know who it was. And if it's the one I'm thinking of, we have a challenge on our hands."

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

Lana was sitting back in her chair at the facility, enjoying a cup of coffee. Usually she didn't do things leisurely; she always moved at a pace far beyond the rest of the world. She had given herself quite a workout; she surprised the blonde-haired girl who was snooping around in Corey Perredine's room the night before. She always loved when she went into "hyperdrive" as she personally liked to call it. The world looked different; prettier, in a way. Watching the girl's yellow hair float around her face like rays of sunshine, the way her eyes shone with fear…she loved it.

The door opened to the lounge, and Candice came in. She walked up to Lana, her arms crossed in a business-like manner. "I take it you remedied our little problem?" she asked.

Lana took a last swig of her coffee and smiled. "Of course. I killed the Perredine woman, and when the little blonde came snooping around, I broke her spine."

Candice's seemingly permanent smile faded. "Broke her spine? I told you to blow her brains out, you idiot!"

Lana swallowed. "What's the difference?" she tried to say casually.

Candice knocked the coffee mug off the table, shattering it in pieces. She got right in Lana's face. "Because, simpleton, Claire Bennet has the power of regeneration. She can't be harmed unless her brain is destroyed. God!" She stood up and paced in a corner of the room.

Lana looked down in shame. "Well…well, so what? Even if she comes for us, we'll bring her down."

"But now she's had the chance to talk to her partners, and they're going to form a plan! Damn it! We were so close with Corey." Candice crossed her arms and leaned against the wall.

Lana got up from her chair and walked cautiously over to Candice. "But they don't know where we are…do they?"

The dark haired woman looked at Lana with disgust. "The Haitian is with them," she snapped. "And he knew about this facility. That means we've got very little time to get out of here."

"Wrong. You have no time at all," a voice said from behind them. It was Sylar.

Candice gasped. He had gotten past all the guards! But then again, that's why he was Sylar. The next thing she knew, she was being thrown several feet in the air, coming to land hard on the table. Hearing a smash and a groan told Candice that the same thing had been done to Lana.

But Lana wasn't having any of it. She sat bolt upright, and went into hyperdrive. As the world slowed down around her, she got off the table, ran up to Sylar, and gave him a swift left hook across his face. It looked like a scene from a boxing movie in slow motion, his head went back and his body began to fall. Waiting for the right moment, Lana saw that he was completely horizontal and she kicked him hard in the side.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

All Candice saw was a blur moving around Sylar, who was getting the tar beaten out of him. Seeing her chance, she slipped by the action and ran down the hall to get Corey.

As she was rounding the final hallway, the Haitian stepped into her path unexpectedly.

"Well, if it isn't the silent mind-snatcher," Candice sneered. "Come to stop my dastardly plan?"

"The company is gone, Candice," the Haitian replied. "I'm here to make sure you don't bring it back."

She was somewhat taken aback by the revelation that the Haitian could talk, but she quickly recovered herself and took out her gun. "I know that while I'm in your presence my abilities won't work, but I'm sure this little beauty still will." She suddenly took aim at the Haitian, and began to pull the trigger.

Just then, Claire grabbed her arm and pulled it out of aim, and the gun fired into the floor.

"You little bitch!" Candice screamed, and used her elbow to hit Claire in the head.

Claire went flying backward, the back of her head slamming against the floor. Candice grinned in delight and turned just in time to receive the Haitian's fist to her jaw. She groaned, and fell against the wall. Then, remembering her gun, she pointed to the only place she could see on the Haitian—his upper thigh—and fired. He stumbled, then fell to the ground like a great oak tree.

"No!" Claire cried, as Candice chuckled and ran to get Corey.

Frantically Claire took off her sweater and crumpled it up, then pressed it to the gory wound on the Haitian. Tenderly she put her hand under his head and cradled it. "Try to stay awake. I need you to stay with me," she told him.

His eyes fluttered, and he smiled weakly. "My phone is in my pocket."

After Claire ended her call with the police, she smiled sadly. "I don't even know your name."

"Yes," he said, and coughed. "It's…Caleb."

"Caleb," Claire said softly. "What does Candice want with Corey?"

"The same thing…the company wants," he said with difficulty. "To exploit the abilities of those…that have them. What that is…I don't know."

Claire sighed and continued applying pressure to the wound.

"I won't…I won't turn you in to your grandmother," Caleb whispered. "But…I can't promise that she…won't come after you…herself."

Claire smiled. "Thank you."

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

Sylar lay motionless on the floor. He'd gotten the beating of his life, and he wasn't sure if even two minutes had gone by. He closed his eyes, and thought of snow. Hard, wet, icy, snow. The kind of snow that just borders on hail, and brings the most devastating blizzards the world ever sees. He smiled, his face smashed to the floor, and began to see his breath blowing out of him.

Lana was getting cold. The air was incredibly chilly, and she could swear she saw snowflakes drifting in the air. She felt herself slowing down, her body compensating for the incredible cold. She was going back into normal time.

Just in time for Sylar. He stood up, and using his telekinesis, smashed her as hard as he could into the wall. He had done it so well, in fact, that the sheetrock actually caved slightly around her body.

He limped through the halls, looking for Claire. To his horror, he found her cradling the Haitian's head in her arms, a very nasty gunshot wound on his thigh.

"Claire, we have to go. We have to go after Candice," he told her, kneeling beside them.

Tears filled her eyes. "I can't leave him!" she cried.

"You…must," the Haitian whispered weakly. "The police…will only slow you down with…questions."

"But we can't find her without you!" Claire protested.

The dark man smiled and, with his last bit of strength, touched the side of her head. "I didn't tell you everything about my power," he said. "I can take memories…but…I can give…them too." He shut his eyes tightly.

Claire gasped as the building fell away from her and she was bombarded with a flood of memories. Faces, sounds, smells, lights…it was all a blur. She felt like her head was going to explode from the incredible weight of the memories being forced into her brain. She grimaced and began to cry from the pain.

Just when she thought she couldn't take any more, Caleb released her and closed his eyes with a sigh. Claire blinked and shook her head.

"Claire," Sylar said impatiently. "We have to go—now!"

Claire stood up and, giving one last look to Caleb, joined Sylar in their quick escape from the compound. They missed the police by mere minutes.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Corey sighed and looked out of the window of the car. He had come so close to being free. He could smell people, good people, coming to try to save him. But the nasty lady who was now driving the car had taken him away before they could find him.

"Don't even think of escaping," she told him, as if she had read this thoughts. "Like I said before, you have a job, and you're going to do it."

Corey looked at her sadly. "Why me? Why do I have to do this?"

"Because of that nose, silly. You can sniff out anything. And there's something—sorry, someone—we need you to find for us. He's very hard to find, because he doesn't want to be found. But with you, well, it'll be easy!"

Corey didn't like the way this lady was talking to him, as if he was a baby. He rolled his eyes. "What are you going to do if I don't want to help you?"

She smiled that evil smile she seemed to have been born with. "Then you'll end up just like your mommy. You'll just…disappear. And I really don't want to have to do that to someone as sweet as you."

Corey swallowed and tried to hold back tears. He looked down at his hands and prayed that those people, the ones he didn't even see, but only could smell, would find him and take him home.


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you sure it's safe to go back to the inn?" Claire asked.

Sylar lay back in the passenger seat with his eyes closed. That woman Lana had really given him a beating. "I think it is. Those two we fought with are going to be more concerned about getting the boy away from here than with us. Besides…" he groaned and sat up, "we don't really have a choice. I'm a mess."

Claire looked over at her partner. He wasn't lying. He had a huge gash on his forehead, one under his right eye, his left eye was beginning to blacken, and she could see he was bleeding through the sleeve of his shirt. Internally she winced at what injuries might be under his clothes.

They walked into the inn, and Claire could imagine just from the stares they got what people were probably thinking. She herself looked fine; had she not had her healing factor, she'd probably have some nasty bumps on her head. As they walked past the front desk, she smiled at the clerk's worried stare and said, "We're engineers."

"Engineers?" Sylar asked once they got to her room.

Claire pushed open the door and rolled her eyes. "It was all I could think of." She had remembered her father telling her about one of his first jobs working in a shoe factory. The engineers who maintained the machines were always getting nasty cuts and scrapes while doing their job.

She had him sit on the bed while she went to the bathroom to go through what few supplies were there. To her delight she found they did have antiseptic wipes, band-aids, sterile pads and tape. She brought them out to the bed and knelt before Sylar.

He couldn't help but smirk as Claire began to fumble with the packaging on the sterile pads. He was sure that she made a great cheerleader, but a nurse she was not.

He winced as the alcohol made contact with his skin. Claire gently dabbed the pad over the gash on his forehead and put a band-aid over it. After that was done, she went back to the bathroom, wet a towel with cool water, and put it over Sylar's black eye.

"Take off your shirt," she told him.

Sylar cocked an eyebrow. "A little demanding, aren't we?"

She groaned. "I want to see if you're injured."

"It's just my arm. And remember, I'm more resilient than most." He pushed up the cuff of his sleeve.

Claire sucked in air sharply. There was a nasty cut on his arm. She was sure that there were probably other injuries on him worse than this, but she was going to take his word for it that he was "resilient."

Seeing the blood on his arm reminded Sylar of his dream for some reason. He looked away, out the window. "Do you regret doing this?" he asked.

Claire looked up at him carefully, considering his question. "Sometimes," she replied. "But also sometimes I feel that…I have no choice."

Sylar looked at her, puzzled. "What do you mean, you have no choice?"

Claire smiled sadly at him. "For a long time, I was sure that all I wanted was a normal life. I was…afraid of what it would mean for me to have the ability that I do." As she spoke, she swabbed the cut on Sylar's arm with the alcohol soaked pad.

"And then?" Sylar encouraged.

"And then I realized that I could never escape what I was. And I have to thank you, partly, for that."

"So how does that relate to what you do now?"

Claire sighed. "If I save Corey Perredine, it means that it's worth not having a normal life. If I pull a man from a burning train, it means that I was given my ability so that others won't suffer. And, if I reform you," she added, now wrapping a sterile pad around the wound and taping it, "then it means that…I have something to have faith in."

"You have faith in me?" Sylar asked.

Claire smiled and stood up. "I'd like to."

He smirked. "Well, I'd better not let you down, then. So far, the only thing you're qualified to do is cheer on high school jocks."

Claire scowled, and, without warning, slapped the cut on his arm hard. Sylar yelled out in pain.

She took his face in both her hands and looked at him. "Why do you always do that? Why, when you're getting so close to feeling something, you make some snide comment, make some snarky face?"

Sylar didn't realize how warm her hands would be. The tips of her fingers just reached the edge of his neck, and he longed to lean in against them and feel their softness. But he held back.

"What do you want from me, Claire?" he demanded.

She stared at him for a while, tears shining at the corners of her eyes. Then she took her hands away from his face.

"Everything!" she exploded. "All that you have! All that you can give me!"

Sylar looked up at her, feeling like there was so much he could pour out of him right then and there. But then, the image of those twin butchers with silvery knives in their hands flooded his mind. No. Not again.

He shook his head, and got off the bed. "We're partners, Claire. That's it. You don't want what I could give you, trust me."

He didn't look at her face, because he was afraid of what it would do to him to see it. So he cleared his throat and went to look out the window.

"The Hai—Caleb—gave you his memories. What did you see?"

Wiping her eyes as discreetly as she could, Claire began to put away the first aid materials. "Um…it was such a blur of things, but one thing that I saw was a big white building. There were…people inside. People like us, getting tested. I think it's one of the few places that belonged to the Company that's still operational. I think that's where Candice is going to take Corey."

Sylar stood in the threshold of the bathroom, where she was. "Do you know where this place is?"

Claire held her head and shut her eyes tightly, calling up the images. Once again, it was a mess of pictures, sounds, colors. She saw dark, loving faces—perhaps they were Caleb's family. She could feel the tropical breezes and the damp humidity of his native land. Her mind twisted as it tried to find memories related to the company. Finally, almost like touching down as a plane would onto a runway, Claire found a memory to lock on to. There was her father—her adoptive father, looking at her and talking.

"No one is going to be working at this one," he was saying. "We have orders that there's too much of a risk."

Claire wanted to ask, what risk? But she was bound by the memory. She had no choice but to see everything that had happened through Caleb's eyes. She was walking with her father, through the halls. She turned her head and saw a huge metal disk in one white, empty room. It was surrounded by metal gates, and there were people in white jumpsuits and masks studying it. She turned her head back to the front and kept walking. Suddenly, she was on the highway, riding away from it. She was in the passenger seat while her father was driving. There were road signs she could make out.

Everything then blanked out, and Claire's eyes flew open. She was back in the bathroom of the inn, Sylar still standing in the doorway, looking at her.

"I know where they're going," she told him.

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

They stopped at a diner along route 70, Candice complaining that she was hungry. Silently Corey got out of the car, only to find that it wasn't the dark haired woman getting out of it, but rather a tall, slim man with brown curly hair and dressed in work clothes. It looked like this dad. But Corey remembered that this woman could look like anything she wanted, so she must be disguising herself. He looked closely, and saw that the man had the same irritating smile on his face.

"Come on, son," the woman said in a man's voice. "Let's go get some grub."

Corey sat in the booth in misery, knowing fully well that Candice expected them to play the role of the happy father and son on a trip together. The only thing that took his mind off his situation was watching the shapeshifter tuck her food away with much more vigor than would be expected for a woman her size (or even for the man she was pretending to be). He wondered if being able to change your form meant that you never had to worry about getting fat.

He sighed and started taking in the air, trying to see if there was anyone there at all who might be able to help. Their waitress smelled of a drug addiction and personal pain—she couldn't help. The couple in the booth behind them smelled of marital discord and broken hearts—they couldn't help. But then, Corey's nose picked up the whiff of a former police officer, someone who had seen everything. He was sitting at the counter, finishing the last of his coffee. He could help. If only Corey could get to him! But he knew that Candice would never let him out of her sight.

Her manly jaws crammed with grilled beef and bread, she looked at him carefully. "What's wrong, Cor?" she asked in a muffled voice.

"I need to go to the bathroom," Corey told her in the most even voice he could manage.

She wiped her face and put down the napkin. "All right," she said. "Let's go."

With her hand on Corey's shoulder, they walked to the men's room. "Why do you think I chose this form, son?" Candice asked in her false basso voice. "Did you think I was going to fall for the 'go to the bathroom' routine?"

With a heavy heart, Corey went into one of the stalls, Candice standing right outside so that he couldn't escape. He sniffed the air, and realized that something wasn't right. He was smelling…something electrical. And it was igniting.

He burst out of the stall, nearly knocking over Candice. "We have to do something!" he cried. "I smell something bad! It's going to start a fire!"

Candice looked at him, worried. "Where?" she asked.

"In the kitchen. Something in the kitchen!"

Candice seemed to consider for a moment, then shifted back to her original form. "All right. Come on."

She took him by the hand and calmly walked him to the kitchen.

"Don't they care we're going into a place we shouldn't be?" Corey asked her.

"They can't see us," she replied.

They stood in the middle of the room, cooks and waitress scurrying about them. Corey sniffed and knew immediately where it was. He pointed. "That box—over there!"

Candice grabbed the fire extinguisher off the wall, and, opening the box carefully, turned the extinguisher on it.

After it was done, she ushered the boy out of the diner and back outside. She looked at the diner and smirked. "You just saved them, Corey. And they're none the wiser."

"Then I was right," the boy told her.

She looked at him. "About what?"

"That I'm supposed to be a hero, not be evil like you," he said defiantly.

The dark haired girl looked hurt, but then she smiled. "Doesn't pay to be a hero, kid," she told him as they got back into the car. "You never get what you want."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

They were flying down route 70, going as fast as they could while trying to avoid any state troopers looking to bust an out of state car.

They hadn't talked to each other since they left Louisiana. Sylar was afraid that talking to Claire would bring them back to the conversation they had while she was taping up his wounds, and he was sure that Claire wasn't talking because she just didn't want to.

But the silence was beginning to grate on him. Finally, he asked, "so you said that you saw some big metal dish in one of the rooms—any idea what it was?"

"No," Claire said flatly.

"Did…anyone in the memory say what it was?"

Claire rolled her eyes. "I just know that it's so dangerous that the compound was closed up. So, if Candice is taking Corey there, it must be to use that dish."

There were several more minutes of silence.

"An amplifier," Sylar said suddenly.

Claire looked over at him. "What?"

"I bet the dish is an amplifier, kind of like a satellite dish that brings in carrier waves. It makes sense with Corey's powers."

"How so?"

"Corey has a heightened sense of smell; Kevin called him a 'bloodhound.' Well, everyone has limits to their powers. But if Candice could amplify Corey's powers, she could find anyone, anywhere!"

"But who is she trying to find?"

Sylar shook his head. "That I don't know."

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

When Candice pulled up to the compound, Lana was standing there with her hands on her hips, waiting for them.

"How did you get here?" Candice asked, pushing Corey towards the building.

Lana shrugged. "I ran. How else?" she boasted.

Candice rolled her eyes. "So you finished Sylar off then?"

Lana shifted uneasily. "Well, no. When I came to, he had made me crash into a wall. It's a lucky thing my power makes me heal fast as well."

"Yes, lucky lucky," Candice said sardonically, wishing now she hadn't allied herself with one of the company flunkies. "So now we have to worry about him coming after us?"

"But he doesn't know where this place is…right?"

"The only person who knew was Noah Bennet, who is as harmless as a mouse without the Haitian, and the Haitian doesn't know anything about this place. Besides," Candice grinned, "I put him out of commission."

They walked into the building, the guards making room for them like they were royalty. Then they entered a room. _The_ room. And there it was, shiny dark grey metal, perfectly round, the size of a small car. Candice sighed and walked up to it, wanting desperately to touch it but slightly afraid of the consequences.

Her reverie was broken when Lana asked, "How does it work?"

"It strengthens abilities," Candice said, circling the dish. "Whatever it is you can do, you can do better than you can now with this little beauty."

"Who made it?" Corey piped up.

Candice turned to the little boy and knelt in front of him. "The very person you're going to find for us.

Just then, the door opened and a little grey haired man came in. "Ah, Candice my dear! You finally made it."

"Hello Donald," Candice purred, giving the older man a kiss on the cheek. She then took Corey by the shoulders and pulled him in front of her. "This is the one we've been waiting for. Corey dear, meet Dr. McGinley."

Reluctantly Corey shook hands with the man. Surprisingly, the man didn't smell evil. Misguided…maybe. But not wicked like the other two in the room.

And somehow Corey worked up the courage to just say what he felt. "You're not like them," he said softly to Dr. McGinley. "You don't have to do what they tell you."

The grey-haired man looked at Corey, then up at the grinning Candice. "You didn't underestimate him, my dear." He knelt down to Corey's level. "Would you like me to tell you why I'm doing this?" Without waiting for an answer, Dr. McGinley began.

"I had a little boy like you once. And he was taken away from me. The world is full of cruel, uncaring people, Corey. But if you help us, you'll be helping to make the world a better place.

"The person we're trying to find has the ability to do this. He can make the world into anything he wants. But we don't know where he is. That's why we need you, son. With your help, we can find him."

Corey narrowed his eyes. "If he's got this power, why hasn't he made the world a nice place already? Why has he let these nasty ladies kill my mama?"

Dr. McGinley was speechless. Candice and Lana just smirked.

"It's all right, Donald," Candice told the doctor. "I already told him he has no choice."

Dr. McGinley looked at the child, who reminded him so much of his own boy, lost to him decades ago. He had sold his soul to make a better world. He made a vow to himself that once the child had done what he was brought there to do, he'd take him away.

Candice's impatient voice brought him out of his thoughts. "Well. We'd better get started. Donald?"

The doctor took a deep breath and nodded. "Right. We need to hook the boy up to the dish. I've developed the technology myself."

Corey stood still as Candice took off his shirt and the doctor bombarded him with wires with tape on them.

"Put your hands on the dish, son," Dr. McGinley told him. Corey could tell the doctor was trying to be as gentle as he could. He did as he was told.

"Now, we want you to think of someone very powerful. Think—think of God," Candice whispered in the boy's ear, her eyes having a wild look. "Tell us what God smells like."

Corey hesitated. There were plenty of things he'd used his power to find: the chocolate bars his mother would keep in the cabinet, his shoes when he had lost them, Kevin when they were playing hide and seek. But he never tried to smell out something as powerful as God. It scared him.

He felt a strong hand on the back of his neck. "Do what Candice tells you," Lana hissed.

Corey swallowed and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath in, and when he did that, the dish began to glow, then vibrate. Corey's eyes flew wide open. He was being overwhelmed by the scents. He could smell a man and a woman making love in Mexico; he smelled a man killing another in Britain; he smelled a woman giving birth in Spain. A dog pissing on the side of a wall in New Jersey. A lion slaking its thirst in a watering hole in the Serengeti. A man having a heart attack in Belgium. A little girl tap dancing in Paris. Three men sharing a drink in Morocco. A woman drowning in Sydney, Australia. A man dying in Tai Pei. A husband and wife cooking in Hawaii. A mother slapping her child for starting a fire in Brazil. A son telling his father he's a homosexual in Monte Carlo. A chicken laying an egg in Trinidad. A man frying in the electric chair in Las Vegas….

The boy's head fell back, he was making gurgling sounds as if he was drowning. His body began to shake as if in a seizure.

Dr. McGinley was terrified for the little boy. "We need to stop this! It's overwhelming him!"

"No," Candice replied. "He can do this. Corey, come on! Weed through the rabble! We're going for God!"

Just then, Corey collapsed. Dr. McGinley caught him and began pulling the wires off of his skin.

"What are you doing? Stop that!" Candice cried.

"I'm not going to let this child die for your pet project!" McGinley hissed.

Candice looked at Lana. "Kill him," she said simply. Before she could blink, the old doctor was dead.

By now, Corey was bleeding from his nose, his chest heaving to catch a breath that wouldn't come.

"Candice," Lana said with pathos in her voice. "We're going to lose him if we don't cut him off."

Candice sighed. "All right. Get him out of here. We'll ask him what he found afterwards. If he was unsuccessful, we'll try again."

Lana removed the wires and made the boy sit up. Coughing up blood, he began to breathe again, painfully. Lana took him in her arms and carried him to a holding cell.

After they were gone, Candice sighed and began to clean up the mess. When she was done, she dared to peak into the metal dish's reflective surface. A fat girl with thick eyebrows and horrible acne stared back at her. She closed her eyes and heard the disturbingly familiar voices come back to her.

_Whoa look at that fat ass! Hey baby, maybe you should limit your big mac intake to just one a day!_

_Candice, get the hell out of our bathroom. Didn't we already tell you you're not allowed to use the one on this floor?_

_Baby girl, you need to lose some weight. No man's gonna want you looking like that._

Candice opened her eyes in horror, only to find, to her relief, that the face looking back at her was the one she'd lovingly created for herself. She was glad she'd had that sudden relapse. It reminded her of why she was doing this. Once she found him and he changed the world, she'd make sure that all of the "normals" were gone. She would be the normal one, and she wouldn't have to fit in with anyone again. She could be herself.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Lana had laid him down on the bed in the cell and covered him with a blanket. He pretended to be unconscious until he was sure she had gone, and then he opened his eyes and sat up, rubbing his nose. He thought for sure he was going to die, smelling all of those things at once. He had no idea the world was so..full.

But even in that awful fullness, he had fulfilled his mission. He found him. Corey hadn't known what to expect, but when he did find him, the little boy could feel the terrible power this man (if you could call him that) commanded. It frightened Corey. He hoped that Candice wouldn't make him look for him again. He was sure that if he told her what he'd found, even she would want to leave it alone.

What scared him the most, besides knowing how powerful this man was, was that Corey hadn't actually found him; he found Corey. He could "see" him. And from what Corey was able to find, he wasn't in any particular place, he was everywhere and saw everything.

Corey's mind drifted back to the good people he had smelled. He wasn't sure if they'd be able to defeat Candice, but he was positive that they'd be no match for him…when he decided to come.


	5. Chapter 5

He'd already decided the moment they pulled up to the compound that this was going to be the end.

She didn't know it yet and he certainly wasn't going to tell her, but as soon as he was gone she'd understand. He had been a killer; actually, he still was a killer, and that wasn't going to change. He knew it was still there: the malice, the greed, the lust for blood, the thrill of the hunt. Claire was never going to make that go away. And as long as she was with him, she'd just be hurt, again and again.

He wanted it over, right then and there. He exited the car quickly, and began to take long strides to the building, heedless of Claire's voice calling out for him to wait for her.

He blew the doors open. A dozen guards were upon him and fired a blizzard of bullets at him, but he stopped them all with his mind and sent them flying in all directions away from him. He was sure that some of them probably hit the hired bodies, but for the most part they just ducked them. He heard the sounds of clapping. It was Lana, sauntering into the hallway.

"Good job, Sylar," she told him. "Back for another ass-kicking?"

Sylar turned to Claire, who was right behind him. "Go find the boy," he told her. He turned back to his foe, his arms lit up with a radioactive blaze. "I'll take care of this."

With that, he shot a stream of lava-colored flame at Lana, she moving like a blur to miss it. Sylar's ears caught the sound of her movements, even at superspeed, and he was able to approximate where she was.

Lana jumped to avoid the blast, taking just enough time to admire the flames as they moved in a steady stream. She ran towards Sylar, who was trying to calculate where she was, she knew. She was almost upon him when she was nearly blinded by a incredibly bright light coming from his hands. There was the sound of crackling, as the electrical systems in the building were affected by the light and heat produced.

She couldn't keep going. The light was so bright, and even with her head in her hands she could feel it burning her.

He heard her screaming in pain, and she was down. He gasped, and nearly stumbled from his exertion. But he knew he didn't have much time to act. He had gathered from their last fight that she probably healed just as fast as he did.

"Hot enough for you? Let me help you cool down," he uttered. With just an index finger, he froze her right to the ground. Incapacitated, going into shock from the synergy of forces just thrown at her, she went unconscious.

With Lana out of the way, Sylar went to find Claire, and take care of some unfinished business.

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

Claire was running through the building, trying to find Corey. She was just about to pass through her last hallway when Sylar stepped in front of her suddenly. She gasped.

"Sylar! God, you scared me!" she cried, holding her chest.

"Hmm. Well, that's the least of your worries," he said in a dark voice, advancing upon her.

Claire began to back away, both confused and afraid. "Sylar…what are you saying?"

Her answer came in the form of a finger that pointed at her and sent her flying across the room. She landed on the floor with a sharp, painful thud.

She groaned as she tried to make sense of it. What the hell was he doing?

She had little time to think about it as he wrapped both hands around her neck and was choking the life out of her. "I'm saying thank you, for leading me to this prime real estate. Heightened sense of smell? That's going to come in quite handy, but I don't need that right now." He leaned in to her and licked her cheek, making her shudder. "I can smell your fear," he whispered.

In spite of the strong hands at her throat, she cried out. She clutched at Sylar hands, trying desperately to pry them off of her.

"Why," she managed to croak. "Why do this?"

"Because I can," he sneered. "Because I'm never, ever going to stop having this craving."

She was beginning to lose consciousness, but even in the haze of oblivion, there was one clear thought: that he had betrayed her—that all this time, even with all they'd been through together, he had never really changed his ways.

But then she felt the vice-like grip on her throat begin to loosen, the hands eventually flying off of her as his body skidded away. She looked up to see—Sylar. One standing above her, another stunned and struggling to stand.

The Sylar who was standing, the real one, she realized, smiled at her. "I'll handle Candice," he told her. "Go get Corey."

He watched her run away safely, then looked behind him. His would-be double was gone.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

He could smell someone coming near. But he knew, with relief, that it wasn't the grinning lady. This person—whoever it was—smelled sweet and good. She smelled like what he always thought the angel candles his mother put up at Christmas would smell like.

A voice called. "Corey? Corey, are you there?"

"I'm here! Help!" he cried in reply. He banged on the door, hoping she would locate him.

"Ugh, it's locked!" the voice said.

"There's no lock on this side! There's not even a doorknob!" he called to the person, who he now recognized as female.

There was a sigh, then a pause. "All right. Corey, stand back from the door!"

What followed was the sound of banging, grunting, and cries of pain. Finally, he saw a fist go through the wood of the door panel, then once again. At last, his rescuer pushed the door open and he was able to see her. She was a young, pretty blonde girl.

She smiled sadly. "Are you all right?"

Corey didn't answer. He was too busy watching her bruised and shattered fists reshape themselves.

"Oh," she said, smiling at them. "Yeah, I have powers like you. Come on, sweetie, let's get you out of here."

She led him out of the hallway, and they gasped together when they saw Lana lying injured in a puddle of icy water.

"Come on," Claire whispered, and together they made a run for the exit, hoping that nothing else would deter them.

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

Sylar stalked down the empty hallways, hoping that Claire had made it out of there with the boy. He stopped in his tracks when he started to hear a heart beat. It was soft at first, then started getting louder and louder. Lub dub…lub dub…lub dub…

Soon, he felt as if it was his own hearting beating like that, and now it was speeding up as he began running through the sickly white halls.

Finally, he came to the door where the heartbeat was coming from. He put his hand to his head, and realized he was sweating. He didn't want to go in there. But he had a feeling that was where he'd find the end to all of this.

When he opened the door, he found himself back in the abandoned subway station in Columbus. There was Reid, and Jed, the brother he hadn't actually confronted. And there was Claire, lying on the table in restraints. She was crying out, rattling them with all her might. And he could hear her heart pounding. Lub dub…lub dub…lub dub.

Reid looked up at him, his blue eyes deranged. "Well, if it isn't the Great Killer," he said sardonically. "Come to help us?"

"Come on now, brother," Jed said with equal malice in his voice. "You know Sylar doesn't do hearts. He's more of a "brain man." The identical men laughed.

Sylar swallowed and held up his hand, ready to send those two right through the next wall. But he also knew that none of this was real. Those two butchers were dead.

As if they read his mind, Reid chuckled and said, "You're hoping that we're just an illusion, don't you? That we didn't really capture your little girlfriend again while she was trying to save that little boy."

"Because you couldn't stand to watch Claire get sliced up again, can you?" Jed added with a smirk. "You couldn't stand knowing that the girl you love is suffering again because of you."

Claire turned her head what little she could and looked at him with pleading eyes. "Don't worry about me! Go save the boy!"

Sylar dared to walk closer to the table. "I'm not leaving you, Claire. I'm not making that mistake again."

Sylar's eyes shifted from the two killers: Reid with the knife, Jed with the flashlight. One of them had to be Candice. She might have been skillful with illusions, but she couldn't be omnipresent. But which one was she?

He could hear Claire's heart pounding in her chest, and he knew he had to do act fast. He walked toward the table, and gently stroked Claire's cheek. "You're right," he told them. "I'm not going to let her suffer again."

In a split second, he mentally undid the restraints, grabbed Claire and flung her over his shoulder, while using his telekinesis to throw the twin illusions against the wall. He ran out of the room, into the hallway. As he was making his way to the exit, one of the guards that hadn't been hit by one of the stray bullets jumped out in front of him, but with a flick of a wrist Sylar sent him crashing into the wall.

The exit was in front of him. Again using his ability, he sent the door flying outwards.

Now he was standing on the hill behind the building. Still holding her in his arms, he heard her say weakly into his ear, "You saved me."

Gently he put her down and looked deep into her eyes. "Yes," he said. "I could hear your heart pounding. In fact, yours was the only heart I could hear."

And then, he pointed his finger at her and sent her flying off the hill and into the lake beneath. Sylar looked over the side as she fell, and watched her morph from an injured Claire to a screaming cursing Candice. She hit the water and was submerged. Sylar looked out at the lake for a long time, wondering if she had drowned or if she had used her illusions to fool him. But this time, he had a feeling he had defeated her.

He exhaled sharply. It was over, all over. He began walking.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Where the hell is he?" Claire muttered to herself. They were parked outside of the compound. Corey was sitting inside of the mustang while Claire paced in the grass.

"He's not here anymore," Corey finally called out. Claire spun around to look at the little boy.

"I smelled him when he first came in. He smelled…guilty. And…dark."

Claire smiled wryly. "That sounds about right."

"He's not here anymore," Corey repeated. "I don't smell him here."

Claire looked at him in shock. Sylar had deserted her? But this was no time to be angry. She had to get this little boy to safety.

"Do you smell…the bad people?" Claire asked him.

Corey shook his head. "They're not gone totally, but they won't bother us right now."

She sighed. "Ok then. Let's get you home."

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

Claire felt cold inside as she drove Corey back to Louisiana. He had left her. Inside, she chuckled bitterly. She had always imagined that one day he would, that he'd realize that this whole "redemption" scheme wasn't for him. He didn't care about people; he didn't even care about her. Maybe at one time he thought he did, but it was clear that caring was too hard for him. She was alone again. Her family, her friends, they were all gone.

She had tried to stifle it, but a sob escaped her lips. Corey turned and looked at her.

"You've got angel eyes," the little boy told her. "My mommy once told me that angels weep for all the pain in the world."

Claire glanced at Corey and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Believe me, they have a lot to weep for," she said in a shaky voice.

She saw Corey nod from the corner of her eye. "My daddy left us," he told her in a voice far too even for a child. "And now my mommy's left me."

With that, Claire pulled over to the side of the road as fast as she could. "What?"

The child looked at her somberly. "I heard the two nasty ladies talking about it. They made her disappear because she called you."

Claire gripped the steering wheel and stared out the windshield. "Where is your father?" she asked after a while.

Corey shook his head. "When he found out that I was special, he went away. He married someone new, and he has new kids. He doesn't want me."

That time, Claire wasn't able to stifle the sob all the way. She put her hand to her mouth, the other she slammed against the steering wheel.

"Damn it! God damn it all!" she sobbed to no one in particular. "It doesn't matter how hard I try, no matter what I do! People! They're all horrible, normal and freaks alike!"

Corey unfastened his seat belt, crawled across the gear box and sat in Claire's lap. He wrapped his arms around her neck and wept into her shoulder. They sat there, crying together.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Claire didn't want to take him back to his house, but she really didn't know where else to go. She considered Nadine Juster, the real one, as a possible foster parent, but she knew nothing about her. Corey had been through so much—how could she leave him with just anyone?

She knew that wherever she took him in the end, he should at least have the chance to get his stuff; it was a privilege denied to her since this whole mess began for her personally, and she wanted better for Corey.

They walked up to his room, and she stood in the doorway while he went through his things.

"So are you gonna be taking care of me?" Corey asked her.

Claire smiled sadly. "I guess I will be. I don't have anywhere else to take you."

"You do now," a voice said. Claire turned to find her biological grandmother, Angela Petrelli, standing in the hallway.

Claire narrowed her eyes. "You," she said simply.

Angela smiled. "Yes, me. I've come to take you home, Claire. Caleb is recovering in the hospital as a result of his foolishness, so I thought I'd take matters in my own hands."

Corey walked into the hallway, and Claire pushed him behind her. "I'm not going anywhere with you, and neither is Corey."

"Claire, dear, you're all I have," Angela said with a semblance of emotion in her voice. "I've lost Nathan. In a way I've lost Peter as well. I just want to keep you safe."

"You mean you want to rule my life!" Claire burst out. "I've lived my own way, and I'm not giving it up!"

"Oh? And what has 'living your own way' gotten you? Your serial-killer partner has abandoned you, and you're stuck with a child to take care of. Why don't you make this easy for yourself? I'll take care of both of you."

Claire shook her head and smiled sadly. "Lots of people have tried to take care of me. It doesn't work. I don't need anyone."

"Claire?" Corey said from behind her.

She turned around and knelt down, taking his hands. "I'm not going to leave you," she told him. "I won't let her take you from me."

"It's ok," Corey told her, much to her surprise. "She smells…like a nice person. She doesn't want to hurt me; she wants to help me."

"That's right dear," Angela chimed in. "Corey has a very special ability, and with me taking care of him, it will be nurtured."

Claire looked back at her grandmother, then at the boy. "Are you sure this is what you want?" she asked him.

Corey nodded. "She'll protect me." He wondered then if he should tell Claire about _him, _the powerful one he'd smelled, but he decided not to. She had enough to deal with right then and there. But he had a feeling this new lady, she knew about _him_, and that she'd believe him when he told her that _he_ was evil.

Claire stood up and now faced her grandmother. "You can take Corey," she told the older woman. "But I'm not going with you."

Angela nodded. "I never expected that you would, dear. I was testing you."

Claire frowned. "Testing me?"

"Yes," her grandmother said, now taking Corey's hand. "I know what's coming, Claire. This great battle that we'll all soon fight. I had to make sure you were sincere. And now I see that you are." She was now walking down the hall. Claire followed after them. When they got outside, Claire held the little boy to her.

"You smell like an angel," he whispered to her. She smiled and kissed his soft baby cheek.

"Goodbye, dear," Angela said, holding out her hand. "We'll meet again soon, when the time is right."

Claire hesitated, then took her hand. "Take care of him."

Angela nodded and ushered Corey into the rolls-royce she had ridden up in. Claire watched as the luxury car drove down the road and out of sight.

"Is he gone?" a voice said from behind her.

Claire turned around and sighed. "Yes, Kevin. My grandmother is going to raise him. She has resources. He'll be safe."

Kevin hung his head. "I didn't get the chance to say goodbye."

Claire went up to him and gave him a hug. "Life isn't always fair, honey. I'm sorry."

In spite of his sadness, he couldn't help but smile at the fact that the pretty blond girl had her arms around him. "So you're gonna stay?" he asked hopefully.

Claire smiled sadly. "No. I don't know where I'm going."

Kevin looked around. "Where's your friend? The tall guy?"

Claire's smile fell. "He decided…that this sort of work isn't for him. I think he's made a big mistake."

"So then you're going to go after him? Make it all better?"

Claire gave the little boy a kiss on the head and walked to her car. "No," she called out to him. "Not this time." She got in her mustang and drove away.

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

Candice was dying. She could feel it. She tried with all her might to raise herself out of the water, but it wasn't working. She hadn't felt this helpless since she was a little girl getting teased in school.

Just when she thought there was no hope, she felt a force pull her out of the water, and then she felt solid ground against her back. She coughed raggedly, feeling her chest was on fire. Finally all the water was out of her system and she could open her eyes. At first the light of day seemed blinding, but then she was able to focus on someone above her. It was a man.

Slowly she pulled herself up to a sitting position and she was able to make out his features. He was an older man, perhaps about Donald McGinley's age, but clean shaven and with bright red hair flecked with grey. His ice blue eyes shined as he squinted them into a smile. He reached over and pulled a lock of her soaking wet hair out of her face.

She shuddered when he did that. "Who are you?" she asked.

The man laughed heartily. "Well Candice, darling! You go through all this trouble to find me, and when you do, you don't even recognize me?"

Candice stiffened, and struggled to stand. The man helped her up. "You—you're…the One?" she asked with childlike awe.

He nodded his head in a mock display of humility. "I have many names dear. But if you prefer to call me The One, I shall oblige."

Her eyes widened. "Will you—will you help me?"

He laughed again, like an indulgent grandpa. "Well of course my dear, as long as you help me."

He put his arm around her, and with a wave of his hand, caused the entire lake to dry and become fertile ground. They walked together out of what was once a formidable body of water. "I'm going to rebuild the world. And all I ask is that you do what I tell you. And stay out of my way when the time is right."

Candice giggled like a child, and leaned into her new master and protector. "When do we begin?"


End file.
